


judge, jury & executioner

by explodinganyway



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Gen, mentions canon Jeff/Britta, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explodinganyway/pseuds/explodinganyway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were born with a nail in your heart. You were born missing pieces and held together with scrap metal. It’s how you’ve always known you were wrong; how behind your eyes there rested only nuts and bolts and you could never cry when you were supposed to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	judge, jury & executioner

**Author's Note:**

> prompt from aphrodite-mine: last time. it got a little strange after that...

_He said "I been where I liked  
I slept with who I like_

_-_

_-_

_She ate me up for breakfast_ _  
She screwed me in a vice_

_-_

_But now I don't know why I feel so tongue-tied"_

_-_

You were born with a nail in your heart. You were born missing pieces and held together with scrap metal. It’s how you’ve always known you were wrong; how behind your eyes there rested only nuts and bolts and you could never cry when you were supposed to.

You were eleven when you felt the machine inside you stir, woken by a missing piece; gears finally prompted into moving you realise that your lungs were never there, were rusting bellows that could be stopped with the right kind of pressure.

-

You get used to your machine life and run away from home at sixteen, thighs pumping the word _rebel_ around your body and your feet moving like cars across a highway. There have been many people trying to tinker with your insides and you have learnt to not trust any of them; nail in your heart pressing in deeper and deeper as you keep on running. Feet like a car’s, feet like a construction site, feet chewed up metal from a dump masquerading as art.

-

-

When you sleep with him you feel something in you tighten and loosen and you just wish it was the parts that you already wrote off as broken machinery—the pieces people photograph and try to love without realising they’ve got an arm full of shrapnel. When you sleep with him the flesh in you springs to life and you don’t know how to control it like you do brass and sawed off iron. _I love you,_ pumps through your body and you know you don’t really feel it but your bellows and cogs don’t know the difference, don’t know what to send out and what to keep silent in your heart all nailed shut.

You start to see machinery everywhere, trying as hard as you can to avoid it. It appears in your cats; their crying synching up to create a backing track for all the odd-timed clunking of your body, one second knowing where to go and the next rusted still. You see cogs dressed as flowers, springs attached to trees and you know that this is the last time you can allow your flesh such free reign. You practise moving over the summer; oil your joints and keep far away from anything to do with them, them who act like salt water on your artfully iron body.

-

When you return to Greendale after summer you are completely machine and you can feel your new heart, with its clockwork pieces and old nail, promising to never again spread the wrong message through your body.

-

_This wasn’t my intention.  
It must have got mixed up._

_-_

_-_

_Strangled, beaten up._

**Author's Note:**

> Myxomatosis (Judge, Jury & Executioner) by Radiohead


End file.
